What Happened to Them?
by Shadow DarkFlower
Summary: Possible Character Death. On a blood-strewn battlefield, the secrets of one man. Written for the "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret" challenge by Arcangel-liberty4all


This is my entry for the Musketeers Forum Challenge "There is no friendship that cares about an overheard secret" by Arcangel-liberty4all. For rules and and voting guidelines check out the forum.

Thank you again Celticgal1041 for another great proof-reading! You're the best!

Warning: Tissue alert and possible character death. It's left kinda open so...Read at your own risk. If I get enough reviewers I might add to it.

I hope you all enjoy this!

Please Review

xXx

Secrets. Secrets are those things that always have a way of coming out. Those things that no matter how hard you try to keep them, eventually they are shown to the world. Those things that nudge and strain and pull at you the longer you don't share them. They twist and turn until they make you dizzy with the exhaustion and insanity of keeping it inside.

That's how d'Artagnan felt. The twisting and turning of the storm that was of his own making badgering at his defensive walls, willing itself to be free. The monster snarling to be let out of it's cage, scratching at the walls. The cold grip of guilt badgering at him, twisting raging fists into his heart and mind. But how could he share this pain. How could he let someone else bear it, when they were the innocent party?

Staring out into the black night on the blood soaked battlefield that he now called home, d'Artagnan wished he could share what was troubling him with his brothers. But how could he tell them that at the moment, all he longed for was the sweet call of death? For the reaper to gather him away from this place?

d'artagnan shifted, carefully moving his leg to the side to catch a glimpse of the gash extending the length of it. He leaned his head back against the tree behind him, closing his eyes to the soft light of a campfire burning. The silence between the four men gathered directly around it pressing down on each of them. The indistinct noises of the other men settling down behind and around them, background noise to the night.

How had it gotten this far? What happened to the Inseparables? What happened to the friendship and loyalty and honor and commitment they had had with one another? When did it turn into biting comments, and cold commands and icy looks? When had it all fallen so far into disrepair, it looked like the bodies strewn across the red covered ground. d'Artagnan allowed his eyes to drift open and slowly scan the men around him.

Athos, the fearless leader, now Captain to over thirty men. The sometimes aloof man from before was gone, now replaced with this stone statue of a man. Gone were the witty comments, or the dry laughter. Now there were reprimands, cold shoulders and empty gazes. Where had his friend and mentor gone?

Aramis, the fun-loving Spanish sharpshooter. Where a smile used to be firmly planted on his face, was now a stoic persona. Gone were the jokes and the friendly shoulder brushing and fist-bumps. Gone was the constant badgering to be looked over by the concerned medic. Gone was the man he could talk to, the man who would keep his secrets and just smile and say it was what friends did. Where had his confidant gone?

Porthos. There weren't many words to describe Porthos. He was the big cuddly teddy bear, or the snarling wolf protecting it's pack. He was the protective big brother, or the friend pushing you to test your limits. He was...Porthos. The man that would always have your back, no matter what the case. The man that would put you at ease without a word. He was the pillar you relied on. Where had his rock gone?

Where had all their friendship gone?

d'Artagnan sluggishly blinked his tired eyes, belatedly realizing that maybe he was bleeding a bit too much. His head lolled to the side a bit when he tried to move, coming to rest on his shoulder. He slowly blinked again, struggling to comprehend the change in how his eyes saw things. He tried to lift his hand to brush his eyes, but it wouldn't move at his command. He tried again, but the tiny shift of a movement did little to lift it. He blinked again.

Maybe this was it. Maybe, he was finally getting what he'd been hoping for. Maybe he was finally getting his escape from the reality he now lived in. An escape from the cold relationship between them. An escape from a romance that failed when Constance wrote to him that she was done. An escape from _life._ Maybe death was finally coming to take him.

d'Artagnan blinked in confusion when suddenly he was lying on the ground, head gently pillowed on his extended arm. His legs were still in the position they'd been before, only now lying on their sides, his wound now being pressed into the hard ground. He watched raptly as the blood pooled and slid across the dirt, a little river forming before his eyes.

And suddenly he was on his back, rough hands running over him, touching him, pressing him down. He tried to speak, say it was okay, that this was what he wanted, but nothing came out of his dry throat beside a moan when a hand pressed down hard on his bleeding leg.

"You're gonna be okay, d'artagnan. Just hold on a bit for me okay?" Aramis' raw, concerned voice echoed through his ears. He tried to move, to stop the pressure, but was held still by strong arms.

"Easy, lad, easy. Don't move. You move and you' gonna bleed some more." d'Artagnan's focus shifted to Porthos. Maybe he'd tell him, convince him to make Aramis let him go. But the words still wouldn't come.

"Stupid kid, why didn't he tell us he was hurt this bad." Aramis muttered, partially to himself, partially to the others. d'Artagnan's mind once again shifted focus, but this time it was to a comforting hand running through his hair.

"He felt he couldn't" Athos softly replied, eyes starting to fill with unshed tears. "None of us have been speaking, communicating, anything. We've been avoiding each other and focusing on other things, desperate to ignore that things weren't right between us."d'Artagnan felt Porthos shift in discomfort beneath him at that.

"It doesn't matter. I'm gonna repair his wound and then when he's..." d'Artagnan didn't catch the last of the sentence. Frustration brewed within until he finally pulled in enough strength to briefly speak.

"It's...okay. I want...to die. I want to let go." d'Artagnan breathlessly pushed out. There. He'd said it. His worst secret was out and they knew. They _knew._ No more hiding it. d'Artagnan felt a moment of overwhelming relief before it was taken away by a searing pain in his leg as more pressure was applied.

"No! No, It's not okay, d'Artagnan. You are Not giving up. Not now, not ever. I don't care if you want to. You're gonna get better, and we're gonna talk. We're gonna fix this. We're gonna fix it." Aramis' voice broke with his sobs, but he still held pressure while trying to find the right tools to stitch his wound from his bag, which had appeared sometime since d'Arrtagnan started losing focus.

"D'Artagnan, you need to hold on okay. I know it seems bad but we can't lose you." Athos' stern voice cut through the haze starting to cloud his vision and mind. d'artagnan tried to obey, if just for a moment but his body wouldn't respond.

"No. Don't you dare close your eyes, d'Artagnan! Lad, eyes on me." Porthos ordered, hands shaking his shoulders roughly. d'Artagnan's head lolled a bit before settling again.

He smiled softly at his friends before closing his eyes and sinking into the darkness.


End file.
